


Brighton Rock

by 19BeyondGone49



Series: Clogs for Paws [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s Era Queen (Band), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe- Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe- Werewolves, Ancient Rome, Angst, Band Fic, Brighton - Freeform, Childhood Trauma, Clogs for Paws, Early Queen (Band), Fluff, Gen, Hompy Bong, Humor, I am back!, London, Lycan!Brian, Lycan!John, Lycans, Mom Friend Freddie Mercury, Murder, Oh Dear, Plot Twists, Questions Will Be Answered, Red Special Guitar (Queen), Roman mythology, Werewolf Lore, Werewolf Turning, Werewolf!Brian, Werewolves, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, lycanthropy, werewolf!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/19BeyondGone49/pseuds/19BeyondGone49
Summary: Part 3 of the Clogs for Paws SeriesJohn, Freddie, Brian, and Roger travel to Brighton for their first shows. Unfortunately for them, the city was recently stricken with a series of mysterious animal attacks that some believe could have been murders. Brian, as a new lycan, has a bad feeling about this.Meanwhile, John has secrets about his past that he desperately wants to keep hidden, secrets that will no doubt get out.
Series: Clogs for Paws [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794955
Comments: 22
Kudos: 12





	1. the Trailer (And author's note/excuse)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221B_Fandom_Life](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=221B_Fandom_Life).
  * Inspired by [well the moon is out tonight (maybe you can change his ways)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303413) by [sammyspreadyourwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/pseuds/sammyspreadyourwings). 



> This work is a work of fiction. All things here are dramatized for the sake of storytelling. The characters are based on the “character” or persona of the individuals depicted and are by no means meant to realistically or seriously portray real-life people. That being said, please DO NOT send this to the band members or their families. Also, please DO NOT pressure any band members or their family to comply with any element of this story.

**I AM BACK!**

**Sorry for the delay. I kinda left y'all right in the middle of it.**

**My reasoning: I needed a break from AO3 to get my priorities straight. Now that I think that is all worked out, I feel that I can write again.**

**Also, I totally forgot this existed. It started out as a sort of COVID Quarantine and quarantine has mostly lifted where I live.**

**There is one major change I am going to make regarding this fic...**

****I am not going to write any romance type stuff. I am just really awkward at it and I don't wanna deal with it. However, if you guys send me stuff of your own creation that is romantic in nature that you intend to take place in this universe, I can add it to "cannon." That is one of the main reasons why I lost my steam last time**

**I totally understand if you want to quit reading if that sort of romantic stuff is your style. I am just giving you a heads up so that you don't click through the chapters going, "WHERE IS IT??" and never find it. I am not going to waste your time.*****

**Now, my darlings, here is the 'trailer'**

Do you want answers about John's past? Well, in this fic, you are going to get it. Want to know what happened when he was turned? About why werewolves and Lycans exist in the first place? You have come to the right place! 

Want to know what is happening in Brighton? Some of you smart cookies have already figured it out, but the mystery behind the motive is still there.

Now, if you excuse me, I will begin planning out the story and rereading the last few chapters of my fics to discern what I have already revealed...

NEW UPDATE COMING SOON!


	2. (What should've took three hours probably took) Seven (to get to the) Seas of Rhye (aka Brighton in this chapter. Idk mate just go with it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band continues on their way down to Brighton after a not so great first show
> 
> Roger is a bad driver
> 
> Popcorn and orange juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a work of fiction. All things here are dramatized for the sake of storytelling. The characters are based on the “character” or persona of the individuals depicted and are by no means meant to realistically or seriously portray real-life people. That being said, please DO NOT send this to the band members or their families. Also, please DO NOT pressure any band members or their family to comply with any element of this story.
> 
> This chapter takes place a day after the final chapter of the last fic.

Freddie's POV

———∞◊∞———

The day after one's first show is always a rough one. Sore muscles, scratchy vocal chords, an adrenaline hangover, an _actual_ hangover, you name it, Freddie had it. Now he sat in the back row of the band's van using John's amp as a pillow and Roger tried to navigate unfamiliar roads with only minimal casualties and road rage. Brian, the werepoodle in Freddie's book, sat next to him and was in charge of navigation. Roger surprisingly listened to Brian's directions, only missing a turn a few times because something (or a hot girl) caught his attention. John sat behind Roger tallying up their almost nonexistent earnings from the previous night. 

Their venue was an pub called Old Eliza, a pub known for their free music Tuesdays when they would give new bands a chance to play before a small audience. Freddie, John, Brian, and Roger, standing before a poster that Freddie designed that boasted their new band name, Queen, played the songs Keep Yourself Alive, Doing Alright, Mad the Swine, and Liar.

"I can't believe the audience actually booed when we played Mad the Swine," Freddie complained as he recalled the previous night, "What nerve they got!"

"Thank god for Liar," Brian said. Freddie remembered how the crowd started to cheer again after they started to play his song after Brian's failed one. He felt bad for his friend as a look of defeat washed over his face. Of course, as soon as he got a chance for a guitar solo, the old Brian that Freddie knew and loved was back. 

"Darling, they don't know rock n' roll when they hear it," Freddie assured as he tried to rub his forehead in an attempt to lure his headache away.

Roger scoffed and argued, "That wasn't rock n' roll. That was Sunday worship."

"Weren't you the one who was excited to do the song because of the cow bell?" John pointed out. He dropped the coins he counted onto the floor and cursed under his breath.

Roger completely ignored John's comment and went on, "Oh, and don't get me started on that arseface who called me a woman!"

John, Brian, and Freddie laughed. After the show, a man came up to the band and started to hit on Roger as he dismantled his drum kit. Roger's reaction was the least thing that the man expected. After the whole interaction, the man left the pub in a huff vowing to never come back again.

"He was so rude after I corrected him!" Roger continued, "Told me I was a 'bloody wanker' and stormed out like a coward!"

"Probably because you called him a little cunt first, dear," Freddie said. 

"Oh, don't defend the prick," Roger bickered. 

Brian tapped the map he held and said, "You are going to have to make a right at the next light or you'll add another quarter hour on our travel time." 

Freddie closed his eyes again and tried to will himself to sleep. He felt the van make a violent turn and his body sway into the wall of the van. Their equipment slid towards his face and he screeched and extended his arms and legs like a stretching cat to shield himself from being crushed. 

"Shit!" John screamed as he blocked the stacked up tom drums from falling down on top of Freddie.

Freddie muttered a soft thank you and raised himself up to a seated position. He opened his mouth to ask what happened, but Brian interrupted him.

"Roger, the light was red!" Brian fumed, "We almost got hit!"

"I acknowledged the law and I thought we had enough time, which we did," Roger said.

"I was almost crushed, you twat!" Freddie yelled. John sternly nodded in agreement.

"That car was miles away," Roger said. 

Brian rolled up the map like a newspaper and lightly hit Roger with it. "Not by the car," he corrected, "But by the stuff in the back." 

_Yes, listen to Mr. Astrophysics,_ Freddie thought.

Roger set his eyes on the road again. "What were we saying that we could change for the next performance again?" he asked.

Freddie internally giggled, _Smooth, Rog, real smooth._

Brian cleared his throat and suggested, "We could— Roger, take a left after the record store— We could serve food and drink."

"I meant music, but I like the sound of bribing them with refreshments," Roger said.

John agreed, "They _are_ motivated by their stomachs! We could, if I counted correctly, afford to give it out at our last show at Varndean College." 

Freddie grabbed a piece of paper and sketched out a new idea for a poster advertising for their next gig. " _Rock Band_ _Queen at Varndean College! Don't Miss out on the music and..."_ he penciled out. As the band brainstormed over what to buy, Freddie doodled around the edges of the paper.

"Alright then, what could we do?" Brian asked the group.

"Popcorn is cheap, which is within our budget," Freddie suggested without looking up from his sketch. 

"Cheap. Cheap is good," John mumbled to himself. Freddie felt Roger boil with contempt. The drummer was known to prefer the more luxurious in life. Like Freddie, Roger yearned for more.

"What about orange juice for drink?" Brian asked as he pointed something out to Roger in the road. The van bumped over something and Brian sighed.

Roger asked Brian, "Orange juice? Really?"

"Honestly, I would prefer milk," John said barely above a whisper.

"We know, Deaky," Brian said.

John spoke up and replied, "Logistically speaking, of course, orange juice would make more sense than milk. My apologies." 

Freddie wanted desperately to reassure John in his opinion, but he pat his back and said, "Look at our little accountant go. Exactly what I was thinking."

 _Except not, because cost and numbers aren't my specialty,_ Freddie internally added.

"Well, why not try something less expensive than that?" Roger proposed, "What about water?"

Freddie slipped his hair and replied, "Darling, if I saw a rock n' roll band trying to bribe me to their show with a glass of water I would turn around and walk as far as possible in the other direction." 

Brian, John, and Freddie laughed while Roger kept his eyes trained on the road ahead.

"If it isn't settled dears, at least the idea is now naked out in the open," Freddie said, "Now, what are we going to do about Mad the Swine?"

"I've got an idea, a little embryo of a song called Son and Daughter," Brian said.

Freddie pushed on, "Yes?"

Brian chuckled and asked, "How do you feel about another big guitar solo?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in Black! (or for me, back in flannel pj pants) 
> 
> Short chapter, I know, but the next one (I think) is gonna be long as heck. 
> 
> Special thanks to ActualBlanketGremlin, nastyhobbit, tink, and 221B_Frandom_Life for sticking with this story through my hiatus. It means the world to me! Hopefully this story will deliver
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> EDIT: Spacing between paragraphs adjusted


	3. (Brian couldn't help but notice that) These Are the Days of Our (or his band's) Lives (,Smelling weird stuff, trying to find a celebrity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band arrives at Brighton.
> 
> It smells weird.
> 
> And there is a mystery rock star in town!
> 
> (Much longer chapter than last one, also has some character development)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a work of fiction. All things here are dramatized for the sake of storytelling. The characters are based on the “character” or persona of the individuals depicted and are by no means meant to realistically or seriously portray real-life people. That being said, please DO NOT send this to the band members or their families. Also, please DO NOT pressure any band members or their family to comply with any element of this story.

POV Shift to Brian

———∞◊∞———

Jenny James Inn was only a short walk away from the beach and an ideal location for the Brighton tourist. It boasted a grand total of four rooms with cold stone walls that welcomed its clients inside and a permanent coffee smell in the atrium that compelled them to stay. The inn had a lovely communal bathroom for its visitors on the ground floor. Freddie's delicate choice in where the band would stay during their adventure in Brighton relied on one factor: who would accept them on such short notice?

Brian was thankful that they had a place to stay. The previous town they spent the night in was not as welcoming and all four band members had to sleep in the van. With such a stench the next morning, even the human inhabitants flung open the van's doors to receive fresh air.

Brian, Freddie, and John unloaded their bags from the van while Roger insisted on checking the group in. Brian carried his and Roger's bags through a short and narrow door into the inn and set them down next to the stairs leading up to the rooms. 

His eyes glanced up to the front desk and laid upon exactly what he expected to entice Roger. A pretty girl around their age stood behind the counter. She had wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, big boobs, exactly what Roger would like in a lady.

The lycan fought back a strong urge to roll his eyes. Brian sat down on the steps and pretended to be preoccupied with his fingers as he listened in on Roger's flirtatious conversation. 

"Well, me and my mates here are in town for a few shows. I am the drummer and one of the singers of a group called Queen," Roger said with an audible smirk.

The girl replied, "Oh really? I've never heard of Queen."

"You will soon, Miss Margaret," Roger responded. 

_How does he already know her name, the little prick?_ Brian wondered. His eyes shot up and saw that Margaret had a name tag on her blouse. He face-palmed. 

"Oh?" Margaret asked. 

Roger asked in a breathy voice, "Why don't you come to our next show, eh? It's at an old pub on Edward Street. I would love to see you there." 

Freddie burst through the door looking like a pack mule. 

"Roger, darling, are you done checking us in?" Freddie sang. Roger stared at him with a pale blank face and nodded.

"Yes? Alright, be a good lad and help us move all of this rubbish up to the room," Freddie commanded as he dropped half of his load onto the floor. 

Brian stifled a laugh. Roger flashed the room key at Brian and tossed it to him. 

"Room three," he said.

Brian hopped up to his feet and his clogs clicked as he treaded up the steep stairs to their room. 

Their room was small, nearly one and a half sizes larger than Brian's bedroom at his flat back in London. It had two twin sized beds placed against a wall and across from them stood a proud chest for a toddler. Brian's nose detected cigarette smoke on the walls, but other than that the room seemed to be odour free. The blankets and sheets of the beds were folded tightly military style, a method Brian remembers that his father used from his time being a mechanic in the RAF during the Second World War nearly thirty years prior. 

Freddie slammed his bag on the closest bed with a huff. 

"Whose brilliant idea was it to pack so much?" he wondered aloud.

"Yours," answered John as he trudged through the door.

Upon entering the room behind John, Roger leapt onto the other bed.

"Oh sweet mattress! How I missed you," he mumbled.

With all four members and their belongings, the room felt like it shrunk in size. 

"Who gets the beds first?" John asked.

The other three band members froze.

"Well, I think I deserve the bed because I am the eldest," Freddie said.

"I think I should get it because I am the most tired," Roger argued.

Brian scoffed and stepped in, "Tired? You didn't have to put up with your driving!"

"I, too, would like a bed," John added.

Brian thought, _Oh_ , _sod off, John!_

"We shall settle his dispute as god intended it," Roger declared.

Brian arched an eyebrow. 

Roger clarified, "Rock, paper, scissors." 

"And whoever wins will sleep on the floor tomorrow night and we will rotate!" John said with a twinkle of hope in his eye.

After an intense game of rock, paper, scissors, attempts of bargaining, and a few mild threats, John and Freddie were awarded the great honor of sleeping on a bed the first night while Roger and Brian had to settle on the floor. Roger hastily claimed the spot between the two twin beds and Brian prepared to make himself a next in the corner of the room by the chest.

"Brian?" John asked, "Would you not prefer a spot with more room for your long legs? There is a good space here between my bed and the wall." 

Brian pursed his lips. "No, really, it's fine. It is only for a few nights," he defended.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be uncomfortable over there," John said.

Brian slumped over. _Fine,_ he thought, _I will go over by you._ He gather his things and plopped them down on the floor by John's bed.

"Thank you," Brian heard himself whisper. 

A stomach growled on the other side of the bed. 

"I don't know about you lot, but I am starved," Roger complained.

John chuckled. "Glad I'm not the only one. Let's go eat something," John said.

"Or what?" Freddie asked, "You will eat one of us whole?"

"More like a whole horse," John joked. 

_Could he eat a whole horse?_ Brian wondered, _Could I eat a whole horse? Wait, no. I'm vegetarian! But still._

"Dears, I know just the place! My family and I went there while we were on holiday here about a year after we moved to London. Lovely little place, right by the beach!" Freddie suggested. 

Brian teetered his head back and forth letting his fluffy hair tilt side to side. "I trust your judgement. Let's go," he said.

The band left their room and followed Freddie through a maze of unfamiliar streets. Brighton was filled to the brim with a mixture of musty city smells and the freeing sea breeze. A few gulls flew overhead and Brian automatically covered his head lest they relieve themselves on him. A grey blue sky shone above them that intensified the closer they got to the English Channel. 

"You can go take a peak now, if you'd like," Freddie said as he pointed ahead of them, "The place is right by the pier. I can request a table outside so we can all enjoy the view."

"Thank you, Freddie," Brian replied. 

John, Roger, and Brian reached a railing that overlooked the pebble beach of Brighton. Brian could not remember the last time he smelled the salty air of the Atlantic Ocean. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Every scent was multiplied tenfold by his new nose. He could smell not only the sea whose spray threatened to tickle his face but also the fish being unloaded by a fishing boat on a doc on the other side of the pier. He could taste the salty water and the pollution that poisoned it. He could not only sense the different unique body odours of his bandmates but also the tourist family that stood several metres away from them taking a photo. The taste of the mother's perfume tickled the back of his throat. He could smell the wet pavement of the roads and a soggy ally cat that scurried behind them, even a pair of gulls that were perched atop a nearby building. With a light sigh, Brian let a faint smile drift across his lips.

"I've got us a table right here by the railing!" Freddie's almost shrill voice declared from behind Brian, lurching the lycan out of his trance. He turned around and saw Freddie prancing to a table a stone's throw away from where he was standing.

Freddie turned around and gestured at the table as if to say, 'Well, are you going to sit down or not?' 

Freddie sat down and beckoned a waiter over to the table. Roger, John, and Brian sat down beside each other and prepared themselves to order the only thing they postulated they could afford on the trip: water. 

"What may I get for you gentlemen to drink today?" the waiter asked. He was a young man with short, had auburn hair, and had a square-shaped freckled face. 

"Four waters, one for each of us," Brian replied. 

"Alright, four waters," the waiter echoed as he scribbled down their drink order. He left in a rush back inside the restaurant. 

"Not gonna ask what we want to eat?" Roger asked.

Freddie flicked his wrist and said, "I ordered for you inside. Dinner's on me tonight, dears."

"Oh Freddie, you didn't have to do that," John said. 

"And how did you know what we wanted to eat?" Roger asked. 

Freddie pointed at each of the band members and then to himself. "Fish and chips, something with cheese in the name, salad, and something with a kick," he explained. 

Brian smiled. _He knows us well,_ he thought.

A cartoonish bell rang from the Brighton Palace Pier. Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John stared longingly down at it.

"If we get enough money from the last show, we can go," John said.

Freddie agreed, "Certainly."

"Maybe we can go down on by it on the beach after dinner, get in the water," Roger said. 

"The water? Absobloodytely not! It is much too cold this time of year," Freddie argued.

Roger defended, "Fred, you are from India. Anything is going to be too cold." 

Freddie crossed his arms and retorted, "Sorry, darling, I just simply don't want to get hypothermia. So, you can sod off." 

The table laughed and Freddie patted Roger's shoulder in jest.

Suddenly, the wind direction changed and a strange miasma shot up Brian's nose. John's eyes flashed a pale yellow and he turned in his seat to get a better whiff. The scent smelled vaguely familiar and a wave of uncanny deja-vu washed over Brian. It sent off a chain of internal alarms in him and Brian felt his eyes involuntarily quickly change color to amber and back to hazel. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he felt his bones start to ache like they demanded that he shift. 

"Do you smell that too?" John asked.

Roger tilted his head and asked, "Smell what?"

John flared his nostrils and replied, "That." 

"Must be something that the human nose can't detect," Roger guessed.

"It's strange," Brian said. He felt the tips of his fangs poke the walls of his mouth as he spoke. _What is going on?_ Brian thought as he forced his fangs back up into his gums.

Freddie leaned forward. "How so?" He questioned.

The wind changed direction again and the scent was gone. Almost immediately, Brian's instinctual alarm bells stopped ringing and his body went back to his normal 'human' state. _What the hell?_ he wondered. 

"Doesn't matter anymore," John said, "We're in a city. Weird smells come up all the time." 

John pursed his lips and Brian narrowed his eyes. John fidgeted in his seat and Brian titled his head back a little. _Doesn't matter? I think not,_ Brian internally decided.

The thought completely escaped his brain as soon as the sound of the waiter's feet alerted him to the arrival of his food and drink. Roger's eyes light up at the sight of his meal, and Brian was sure that his did the same. 

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you in town for? Visiting the beach or the pier?" the waiter asked as he placed down their food in front of them.

"We are a rock band on a miniature tour trying to get a feel for an audience before we produce our first album," Freddie explained in between bites. 

Brian gulped at the sound of the word 'album.' 

The waiter leaned forward and whispered, "There is a rumor here that a rockstar is visiting Brighton. One of my mates served them yesterday." 

"Really? Who?" Roger asked.

"All I can say is that the bloke has a name that you know and his unannounced presence here is unprecedented, to say the least," the waiter replied. 

The man tipped his head and walked back inside the restaurant. 

Roger asked with a hint of mischief in his voice, "Who do you think it is?"

"A bloke with a name we all know? Could be anyone," Brian postulated.

"I wonder if it is Elton John," Freddie said.

"Really? Why?" John asked. 

Freddie shrugged and continued eating. 

"Well, I hope that it is Paul McCartney, or better yet, John Lennon," Roger said with a mouthful of food.

Brian laughed and said, "I don't sense the evil presence of Yoko Ono, so I suppose John Lennon is out of the question."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo now we get the story going! What do you think so far? Do you like Brian's growing acceptance of his lycanthropy? And what do you think John knows (if he knows anything) that he is not telling?
> 
> As always, questions, comments, concerns, and predictions are welcome!


	4. (John realizes that the murders weren't a) Dragon Attack (but really a series of werewolf attacks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John slips out of the room in the middle of the night for some investigating...
> 
> (Flashback scene included, important information in the story released)
> 
> GRAFIC DEPICTIONS OF CRIME SCENE- VIEWERS DISCRETION IS ADVICED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a work of fiction. All things here are dramatized for the sake of storytelling. The characters are based on the “character” or persona of the individuals depicted and are by no means meant to realistically or seriously portray real-life people. That being said, please DO NOT send this to the band members or their families. Also, please DO NOT pressure any band members or their family to comply with any element of this story.

POV Shift to John

———∞◊∞———

A few hours after dinner, John's nightly urge to shift passed and he snuggled into his bed. The room was quiet with only one occupant. John shoved his arms under his flat pillow to give it a little more volume for his head. He was thankful that the other three were still in the bathroom (or in Roger's case, flirting with the front-desk lady.) John made sure to take a shower while Roger, Brian, and Freddie argued about the color of the sky. He figured that the only thing he had to lose in the argument was a few neurons, so he opted to go and steal the hot water before his bandmates could use it all up. He laughed to himself about Freddie pitching a fit that the water at the inn being as cold as the water in the ocean.

What can he say? The early bird gets the worm, or in this case, the early lycan gets all the hot water. Besides, he needed as much rest as he could get before he went on his investigation while the rest of the band was asleep.

The heavy footsteps of Brian's clogs echoed up the stairs as his band made their ascent to the room. Their chatter danced around John's sensitive ears and he growled. _Looks like we aren't going to bed just yet,_ he thought.

"John? Deaky?" Freddie's voice called out.

John remained still and pretended to be asleep.

Freddie cooed, "Poor thing, out like a light. Be quiet, dears, he is sleeping." 

John heard a thud next to him. He opened his eyes for a second out of confusion and was thankful that he faced the wall away from everyone else.

"Roger!" Freddie hissed. 

"What?" Roger whispered. There was a pause and then Roger answered to what John assumed Freddie gesturing at his supposed sleeping body, "Oh. Sorry."

The floorboards creaked and John shut his eyes. The familiar and comforting smell of his pup came close to his nose as Brian settled on the floor beside him. A feeling of belonging tingled through him. _Pack._

"Sleep well, my sweets," Freddie said as he flopped around on his bed as he tried to get comfortable.

"Goodnight," Roger mumbled.

"'Night," Brian whispered from the floor.

John kept as still as possible and tried to will himself to sleep. _C'mon, c'mon,_ he thought, _I haven't got the time to lay here awake._ He stirred in his bed and tried to find a more comfortable position. All his attempts were fruitless, and he officially gave up after Freddie's snores filled the room. _Damn it,_ John internally cursed, _might as well go on with the plan a little early. No use sitting here suffering._

He carefully sat up in his bed and crawled to the end of his bed. He put his feet down on the cold wooden floors and the bed squeaked as he leaned forward to get up.

"John?" a voiced asked.

John jumped in his seat and turned to look at a sleepy-eyed Brian staring at him quizzically from the floor.

"Yeah?" John responded in a low voice. 

"Why are you getting up? Is everything alright?" Brian asked with a yawn.

John pursed his lips and lied, "Yes, everything is alright. I am going out for a smoke."

"Just making sure. Goodnight," Brian replied. He set his head back down on his makeshift pillow.

"Goodnight," John echoed.

John stood up and quickly slid on his shoes and his jacket, not caring that he would be going out into the cold night in his pyjamas. 

He placed the room key in his pocket and gently closed the door to his room. To his surprise, everyone else in the inn, including its workers, were asleep. He sneaked out the front door and hoped that it would not be locked upon his return.

The streets of Brighton at night were at a sharp contrast to the night streets of London. In London, one could at least find a few dozen people walking about. Here, John only spotted a drunkard making his way home from the pub and a group of teenagers smoking on the street corner. John shivered at the memory of his last experience with a group of teens. He made an internal note to avoid them when he came back. 

As he coursed his way through the mostly empty streets, the mental image of John lying to Brian danced around his mind. He felt horrible about lying to him because it seemed that Brian just started to warm up to John. However, he knew that if he told the truth about why he left Brian would insist on coming with him. That, John decided, could have an even more disastrous outcome than Brian figuring out John's lie. He, as the one who turned Brian, felt that it was his duty protect him from the real world of lycanthropy for as long as possible.

In the dark, John was able to employ his super speed to navigate the city in nearly a quarter of the time it would have normally taken. He smiled at the feeling of the wind in his hair and he remembered his time running through Hompy Bong Forest enjoying his new powers many years before.

Every once and a while, he would stop to take a sniff of the air. The scent he searched for remained allusive and drove him closer to the beach where he first detected it.

John stood up against the railing by the Brighton Palace Pier. The moonlit waters gently crashed against the pebble shore and the shut down rides stood tall like metal bushes and trees in the night sky. The moon shone brightly above him.

 _A waining gibbous,_ John observed, _My favorite. A little over twenty days until the next full moon._

He trekked down a long flight of weatherworn wooden stairs onto the beach. He knelt down and felt the smooth pebbles under his fingertips. He inhaled the ocean breeze and let his body relax with the sound of the clashing water. Out on the horizon he could see lights on distant fishing and transport boats.

He hadn't looked out on the water from a beach since he was in Belfast with the Irish Lycan pack. He remembered the night clearly. He stood next to one of the pack's chief elders, a portly Lycan with a large bushy mustache named Barnabas. 

"You must see, lycanthropy was not always a curse. For us and those who use it responsibly, it is a blessing," Barnabas had explained to John, "We are the ordained protectors of men."

Barnabas had paused for a moment to let those words sink into a fifteen year old John. His young shoulders quaked with the weight of his duty.

"But you've seen what happens when a Lycan is corrupt," the elder continued, "Last time such an event occurred was in the days of Rome, and there the werewolf was born. This is why we must stop him, so that an even more evil monster is not created." 

John had looked Barnabas right in the eye and questioned, "How can a monster worse than him be created?"

Now John stared at the English Channel from the beaches of Brighton nearly five years later and asked himself the same question. 

"How?" He wondered aloud, "How, Barnabas, could there be a monster created that is more evil, more vile, more selfish and cruel than—"

The wind changed directions and the scent that he searched for smacked his face like a cricket bat. This time, it was mixed in with the sweet smell of death and decay. 

"No, no, no!" John exclaimed as he raced up the steps to get back onto the main level of Brighton. He followed the smell like a bloodhound, obsessive and focused. He could not afford to lose it.

John dashed down a series of alleyways until he got to the source of the smell. Next to a couple of pair of knocked over rubbish bins laid a mutilated human body. Its arms dangled broken at its sides with fingers missing when the unfortunate person tried to fight off their attacker. One thigh was almost completely missing, torn off and eaten. A foot was mangled beyond recognition. The head was turned back so far that the face couldn't be seen. John nearly averted his eyes at the sight of the victim's chest torn open, sternum and true ribs opened up like French doors to reveal a that the person's heart was missing. 

He would have thrown up at the scene if he had not witnessed an attack that he deemed twice was savage as this. After all, the police could only identify Matt Hoople from the driver's license in his wallet that they found a few metres away from his body. 

John took one final whiff of the air and the malevolent odor surrounding the area confirmed his suspicions. 

He announced his verdict aloud, "Bloody werewolves."

Without a second thought, John stepped to the nearest wall and rubbed his shoulder on it. He scent marked on a few other nearby walls, and even on a rubbish bin. He had to fight the instinct to mark the territory in other, less civilized, ways.

 _When they come back in the morning to gloat,_ he thought, _they will know that I was here._

"There," he said in a low voice as he concluded rubbing on the last wall, "That should do it. Surely one of them will have a semi-functioning brain and discern my warning." 

_Hopefully,_ he internally added as he quickly fled the scene, _hopefully the werewolves won't kill again and attract hunters. That is the last thing we need right now with the band in town for a tour._

Before he reached the inn, John tossed his jacket into a dumpster. _Brian will surely smell where I've been,_ he reasoned, _bloke's got a good nose._

He let out a sigh of relief as he found that his room key allowed him to unlock the front door to the inn. Out of precaution, John jumped into the shower to rinse off any other smell that could have latched onto his hair or his skin. The water was lukewarm as it recovered from its overtaxing night from John and his bandmates who demanded hot showers. He turned off the faucet and realized that he forgot a towel. John grumbled and rung out his soaking wet hair before putting his pyjamas back on his damp body. 

He crept up the stairs to their room, careful not to make a sound from his feet or from the creaking floorboards. He slip into his room which he delightfully found exactly how he left it. Freddie was draped across his bed like he posed for a Renaissance painting, Roger was curled up in a little ball on the floor, and John could hear Brian's soft breathing from the other side of his bed.

He gracefully stepped onto his bed and settled under the safe and soft blankets. What was once an uncomfortable mess was now was now like sleeping on a cloud.

As John's eyelids grew heavy, he said a silent prayer for safety and for forgiveness. Forgiveness for lying to Brian or forgiveness for refusing to forgive the wolf that turned him— John would never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo guys who do you think turned John? And why?
> 
> All of this stuff has been the plan since the beginning, so I have been littering bits of foreshadow throughout. (Go back and look at the chapter "Long Away" in the first installment in this series, As It Began. There you will find some clues and you should be able to piece some of it together, especially regarding the death of Matt Hoople.) 
> 
> (there was a major hint for all y'all NT nerds like me in this chapter regarding the identity of the wolf that turned John)
> 
> Also- Who here likes Roman mythology and legend? I am going to sprinkle it in some more throughout


	5. (Roger is going to be) All Dead, All Dead (if weird shit keeps happening to him because he's gonna have a heart attack or something)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birth of THE Brian May Guitar Solo and THE Roger Taylor Drum Solo.
> 
> Roger spots the supposed Rock Star in Brighton. He also has voices in his head, ya know, casually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a work of fiction. All things here are dramatized for the sake of storytelling. The characters are based on the “character” or persona of the individuals depicted and are by no means meant to realistically or seriously portray real-life people. That being said, please DO NOT send this to the band members or their families. Also, please DO NOT pressure any band members or their family to comply with any element of this story.

Switch to Roger's POV

———∞◊∞———

Roger was thrilled about Queen's first show in Brighton. The pub owners allowed the band to set up early and rehearse before the show and Roger nearly ran over an elderly couple on the band's drive over.

The outside of the building was warm and welcoming. It had a classic weatherworn red brick that acted as walls and had hanging plants that levitated next to the door. The pub had proud windows that allowed anyone walking by to see inside at the old wooden decorations and low ceilings that boasted old English pride.

With the help of his strong Lycan bandmates and directed by Freddie, Roger carried his drum kit down a steep stairwell and into the basement of the pub.

"My god, this is perfect!" Roger exclaimed as he reached the final step and looked around.

The pub's basement level held a dance floor, a stage, and a full bar for special occasions like their show. The entire room was spacious and open, and Roger knew that the room would have good acoustics. Its walls were littered with posters from all the different bands that played there in the past. There were even a few posters glued to the ceiling. Roger looked around the place with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Did I tell you dears to trust me?" Freddie asked as he hopped up onto the stage stage. 

"You did, Fred," Brian responded, "But this is more than what we expected."

"I wanted to keep it a surprise," Freddie said with a smirk.

Roger placed the parts of his kit that he carried down where he would assemble his drums. The thud gave off the perfect amount and tone of echo, just as he expected. 

"You little bastard," Roger laughed as he patted Freddie's back. 

Freddie turned back to John, Brian, and Roger. 

"Picture it, darlings, this room full of people! It is going to be marvelous, it truly is," Freddie said.

As Roger tuned his drums, Brian plugged his guitar, the Red Special, into John's amp. Without a warning, Brian busted out a loud riff. Roger jumped and bumped his head on the bottom of the high hat which sent it rumbling down with a loud crash. 

"Shit," Roger swore under his breath, careful to be quiet enough that the owners of the pub wouldn't hear him upstairs. He crawled out from under his drums and set the high hat back upright. The top of his head throbbed and he rubbed it with his hands.

"What was that?" John asked from the other side of the stage.

"My thing fell over because I jumped and nearly soiled my pants," Roger retorted through clenched teeth.

John shook his head and clarified, "No, the guitar. It sounded good."

"It is part of my new song, Son and Daughter, that I mentioned to you earlier," Brian explained.

Roger started to see stars, so he sat down on his drum seat. He blinked repeatedly and hoped that they would go away.

"I like it. Play us some more," Freddie said.

Roger tried to interrupt, "I think I might have a concussion—"

Brian's guitar filled the room. Roger leaned forward until he was almost bent in half and rested his head on his high tom. _Fucking guitarists. They think they are the center of the world or something,_ Roger thought. He tried to block the harmonic sound out of his head. He thought of the pretty girl who worked at hotel. _Marigny, Marge, oh, what was her name?_ He wondered, _Margaret? Yes!_ _That is what it was,_ _Margaret the hotel worker. Imagine her out there in the crowd cheering your name._

Roger absentmindedly picked up his head and looked into the nonexistent crowd for her face. Brian's guitar still met his ears. 

"How long is this bloody guitar solo?" Roger asked.

No response. 

"I said, how long is this bloody guitar solo?" Roger shouted. 

Brian's playing screeched to a halt. 

"Sorry?" He asked.

"The guitar solo has been going on for ages," Roger said.

Brian arched an eyebrow and said, "So?"

Roger paused. He swam through his brain for a response. _I was making a comment and now he's gotta go and be cheeky,_ Roger thought. An idea popped into his head. 

"I dunno, maybe we can reach a little compromise here," Roger stated as he tested the waters.

"A compromise?" Brian asked.

Roger paused for a moment and thought about what he was going to say next. All three of his bandmates stared at him, and Freddie tapped this foot as his patience dwindled.

"Could I have a drum solo? I mean, surely it won't be too much trouble if Brian has so many solos on the guitar," Roger tried. He gave his best angel face and pouted his lips. Oh, how he loved to be a minor inconvenience to people. 

"A drum solo? Really? In which song, dear?" Freddie asked with mock sympathy.

He counted out the songs on his fingers. "Keep Yourself Alive has room," Roger decided. 

"That's my song!" Freddie protested.

"Erhm, it would sound something like this," Roger said. He hammered out a drum solo, quickly doing whatever came to mind.

When he was done, he looked up for the rest of the band's approval.

"Sounds good to me," John said.

"Freddie?" Roger asked.

"It'll do," Freddie replied. 

"Brilliant! Now, may we please go for some fresh air and get a glass of water?" Roger pleaded, "I think I may have hurt my head when I hit it on the high hat."

Freddie nearly threw his microphone on the floor and he sprinted to Roger. He put his hand on his shoulder and held his other hand before Roger's face. 

"Why didn't you say something, Rog?" Freddie demanded, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I did, but no one heard. And technically two, because the thumb is not a finger," Roger said. He swatted Freddie's hand down.

Brian chuckled as he unplugged his guitar. "He's still got his sass," he said, "I am sure that it isn't too bad."

"I was seeing stars!" Roger defended. He placed his hand over his mouth to hide his growing smile. _Now you feel bad, eh?_ he thought as his smirk took more ground on his face.

"Did your teeth get hit too?" John asked full of concern.

"No worries here, Deaky, Roger's a dentist," Freddie said as he pat Roger's back. 

Roger's hand flew down from his mouth and he pointed at Freddie. 

"I was _never_ a dentist," Roger argued.

Brian looked over to John and nodded his head. He said, "He's a dentist." 

Roger rolled his eyes and hopped off the stage. 

"I didn't know Roger was a dentist," Roger heard John say behind him as he hastily climbed up the stairs, "I thought he just worked at the store with you, Freddie."

"Everything doing alright? I heard a loud clash earlier," one of the bartenders asked as he wiped down the countertops before the pub opened.

Roger stopped in his tracks and responded, "Oh, yeah, everything is alright down there. Just knocked over one of the cymbals, that's all."

Freddie reached the top of the stairs and added, "He hit his head on it, but he is alright now." 

Roger's face grew hot.

"We're heading out for a bit, but we will be back before the show," Freddie said. 

The bartender nodded his head and went back to work.

Walking through the streets of Brighton allowed for Roger to get some fresh air. It was a gorgeous sunny day for English standards, meaning the sky was only partially cloudy instead of cloudy and raining. 

The wind rippled in Roger's hair and he buttoned up his jacket. John slipped out in front of him and Roger noticed that he didn't have his jacket with him.

"Deaks, where is your jacket? Aren't you cold?" Roger asked.

John almost tripped in his gait. 

"Sorry?" he asked.

"Didn't you bring a jacket? I could've sworn that I saw you wearing it yesterday," Roger said.

John answered quietly, "I did, but I seem to have lost it. I didn't see it this morning."

"Did you lose it? Where could you have left it?" Freddie asked from behind Roger.

John replied, "I don't think I—"

"Could it have been stolen?" Roger interrupted. If he remembered correctly, John's jacket was a nice one.

Brian chimed in, "Out of our room? I find it unlikely."

"Well, don't we need to get him a new one regardless? The poor thing will freeze to death," Freddie said.

"Really, I don't need one now. I burn hotter than most," John protested.

"Why don't we slip into that shop up there, dears," Freddie suggested, "Surely they will have something for him there." 

The clothing shop that Freddie pushed the band into reminded Roger of the one that he worked at back in London. It was a hole-in-the-wall used clothing store with a wide arrangement of second hand clothes that all conveniently lacked price tags. Freddie ushered John to a rack of mix-matched jackets that ranged from dusty late Victorian style garments to more modern fashion like the bomber jacket.

"Do you have any questions?" an employee asked from behind the check-out desk.

An idea popped up in Roger's mind.

He slyly strode up to the desk and replied, "No, unfortunately, not regarding clothes. However, my friends and I picked up on a rumour in town, one that has been particularly bothering us. Perhaps you can alleviate our curiosities as a local?"

"Perhaps. What is this rumour?"

"We were down by the pier being served lunch and the waiter mentioned in passing that there was a rock star in town. Have you heard something similar?"

The employee's eyes darted around the store and they leaned in and said, "I don't know what you are getting on about, but there is no rockstar in Brighton."

John placed a bomber jacket on the counter and fished out his wallet.

"Found one already? That was quick," Roger commented. 

"It fits, it's comfortable, warm, and Freddie said that it is very fashion forward," John responded. 

"That will be 30 pence," the employee said as they started typing away at their register. 

John grimaced and took out the coins and placed them on the table. 

When they left the store, Brian asked Roger, "Do you really think that the waiter was telling the truth about the rockstar?"

Roger froze. "How did you hear that?" he questioned.

"I've got superhuman ears, remember?" Brian pointed out.

"Right," Roger said slowly. _That makes me wonder how much you hear in general,_ Roger thought, _I must remember not to bring girls home when you are crashing on my couch. Fuck, that would be so awkward._

John said, "I think that he was lying."

"Well, I can feel it in my bones. I _know_ that they are here," Roger declared. 

Suddenly as the band walked back to the pub, a Roger heard a voice coming from inside his head.

 **Beware your friends,** it said. The voice sounded oddly familiar. It was a deep man's voice whose owner's name sat on the tip of his tongue. 

"Sorry?" Roger asked aloud. Brian looked at him quizzically.

"Is everything alright?" the lycan asked. 

Before Roger could respond, the voice spoke again. 

**They are not what they seem. Leave now and take the dark-haired one with you while you still have a chance,** it warned.

"Do you not hear that?" Roger asked.

"Hear what?" Brian asked, "Roger, are you alright?"

Nearing the end of the street, Roger caught the backside of a tall woman in a long blue dress with wavy brown hair and every fiber in his being screamed, _you!_

"That's them!" Roger shouted as he pointed at her.

"Who?" John asked.

"Brian, catch that bird's scent," Roger demanded, "She's got something on us and it isn't good. She did something in my head, spoke to me inside my own mind!"

"What? Roger, what are you talking about?" Freddie asked.

Brian tilted his head up and inhaled deeply. When his head came back down, he had a dangerous animalistic look in his eyes and in his expression. Without a word, he took off down the street after the woman.

"Brian, wait!" John called out after him, "You don't know what you could be getting into!"

John chased after Brian followed by Freddie and Roger.

"I didn't want him to be that overt, damn it!" Roger cursed.

"Well then, you shouldn't have treated him like a hound dog!" Freddie yelled.

At the street corner, both John and Brian stopped in their tracks. Freddie and Roger nearly ran into them.

"Oi! What happened?" Roger asked.

John shook his head. "We lost the scent. Shortly after I started chasing after Brian, I smelled it too. It was unlike anything I've ever encountered before and it pulled me in," he said.

Brian continued to stand still sniffing the air. 

"How did you lose the scent?" Freddie asked.

"I don't know," John admitted, "The lady turned the corner and she was gone and her scent along with her."

Roger patted Brian's shoulder and said, "It's alright, Bri. We'll get it another time." 

Brian flinched and stared down at Roger. The wild facial expression faded off of his face and Roger narrowed his eyes. 

_What is going on here?_ He wondered, _The smell with the lycans and the voices with me. I bet Freddie is going to taste them or some weird shit like that._

"We should get back to the pub," Roger said, "I think that we can regroup and eat there." 

———∞◊∞———

The pub's basement was filled to the maximum occupancy. Queen's audience stood almost shoulder to shoulder with one another, increasing in energy and closeness the closer they got to the stage. 

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Roger's veins and he twirled his drumsticks between his fingers. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," the owner of the pub announced from stage in front of him, "For one night, and one night only, we have a special visitor from London, Queen!"

The crowd cheered.

The owner unfolded a piece of paper and read, "We have John Deacon on bass, Roger Taylor on drums, Brian May on guitar, and Freddie... Freddie Bul...."

"Bulsara," Freddie whispered. 

"Freddie Bulsara, who will be singing for all of you lovely people here tonight," the owner concluded.

The owner stepped off the stage and excused himself from the basement. 

"Thank all of you for having us here tonight," Freddie shyly greeted. His voice awkwardly echoed through the silent room filled to the brim with people.

Roger took a deep breath and counted the band into their first song of the night, Doing Alright. The crowd loved it and cheered as the melody became more heavy. For the next song, Keep Yourself Alive, Freddie banged his Tamborine against the microphone, which not only confused the crowd but also John who stared at Freddie like he had three heads. Freddie, in all his excitement, also swapped a few verses of the song around. 

"Wrong lyric!" Brian hissed barely audible over Roger's drumming.

When it came time for Roger's drum solo, he winked at the crowd and gave it everything he got. By the time Brian got to do his guitar solo, Roger's back was soaked in sweat and his hair sticked to it like it was coated in honey.

Roger took the moment (or eternity, he thought) of Brian's solo to catch his breath. He looked out into the crowd and scanned it for any familiar faces. He nearly gasped when he saw his own face staring back at him.

 _What the actual fuck?_ he wondered as he tried to keep his composure. The other Roger stared blankly at him which made him stand out in a crowd of people whose eyes were glued on his curly haired friend who was having a moment in the far corner of the stage.

The other Roger tilted his head and put one finger over his mouth as if he were shushing Roger. Roger blinked and his doppelgänger was gone. _Oh_ hell _no,_ Roger thought. 

Freddie's voice called him away from his thoughts. 

"And now tonight, to send you off, we will do a special little number that we like to end with," Freddie announced, "called Liar."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my dears, what do you think about Roger's visions? Who do you think is sending them? and why?
> 
> Did you catch the BoRhap references?
> 
> **I am not sure really how to write Roger's point of view. I am trying to make him as interesting as possible. Do you have any recommendations?
> 
> EDIT- The old chapter title didn't make any sense because I fell asleep before I could write about it


	6. (Brian found that) Another One Bites the Dust (After Roger crushed him during Scrabble. He did not kill Roger, might have gone through his mind, but no, the author rather speaks of the werewolf murders yet again.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LONGEST CHAPTER YET- very important details included
> 
> Scrabble game in Brighton, which was originally going to be in last chapter
> 
> Brian internally sings the mission impossible theme as he follows John even thought it was probably not even written yet. (This is just here for your mental image) 
> 
> John tells Brian the werewolf and Lycan creation myth
> 
> WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF A CRIME SCENE. VEIWER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a work of fiction. All things here are dramatized for the sake of storytelling. The characters are based on the “character” or persona of the individuals depicted and are by no means meant to realistically or seriously portray real-life people. That being said, please DO NOT send this to the band members or their families. Also, please DO NOT pressure any band members or their family to comply with any element of this story.

Switch to Brian's POV

———∞◊∞———

"Would a game of Scrabble and a bottle of bear lift your spirits, Rog?" Freddie asked.

Brian rolled his eyes and took off his clogs at the door of their room. He had to listen to Roger grumble about Margaret rejecting his date proposal the whole walk home from the show. Her aunt and uncle just so happened to own the pub that the band played at, so she decided to go to the show. After they were done, she came over to tell the band they did a good job. Before she could whisk away to be with her friends, Roger asked her out on a date, which she hastily declined. Now for the last half hour Brian had to listen to the blond grovel in his own self-pity.

"I guess so," Roger grumbled as he laid down face first on his bed. 

Brian sighed and asked, "Do you expect us to fish it out for you and set it up?"

Roger mumbled something in response. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Brian said.

John laughed and pillaged through Roger's suitcase for the Scrabble box. 

He announced with a smile, "Here it is! I'll set it up on the floor here."

John sat down between the two twin sized beds where Roger's pallet laid the night before and took out he Scrabble board and pieces. He looked like a gleeful child setting up the game. _Such a kid,_ Brian thought, _Well, he is_ _only nineteen-years-old._

"Instead of beer after next show tomorrow, we should opt for wine," Freddie said as he handed a bottle to each of the band members. When he got to Roger, Freddie just tapped his head with it and placed it in front of his face. Roger turned his head and smiled. 

"I dunno, Fred," Roger said as he sat up, "Beer's alright to me."

"Draw a letter, everyone," John instructed. He held out the flimsy bag of letters. 

Brian reached his hand into the bag and drew an 'A.' He tried to hide his excitement as the rest of the hand drew out their letters. John and Roger seemed indifferent about theirs while Freddie's face twisted like he smelled a fresh fart when he looked his. 

Brian chuckled and told him, "Don't ever play poker, Freddie."

"Oh, shut up," Freddie teased.

"What letter does everyone have?" John asked. 

"I've got a 'W,'" Freddie announced as he sat down on the floor with a comically large frown, "You can tell how excited I am about it."

Brian sat on the bed across from Roger and boasted, "Well, I've got an 'A,' so unless anyone has a blank tile, I get to go first."

Roger scoffed, "Here I was, thinking I could go first with my 'C,' but no, werepoodle over there just had to draw an 'A.'"

"Fuck you," Brian said with a braggart grin.

John said barely above a whisper, "I got an 'H' if anyone cares." 

The game went as expected up until the final turns. Brian and Roger were tied with points at 411. It was a battle of wits, a battle of biology versus astrophysics, but most importantly, a battle between who could make a better case for the existence of seemingly made-up words. (This particular aspect was exciting for this game because Freddie, though he remembered to bring two different sewing kits, forgot to bring a dictionary.) 

It was Roger's turn and Brian eyed him from the other bed. All letters were dealt and Brian's hand only consisted of E, D, I, and Q. Roger had three letters left, and depending if Brian could get rid of his Q and what letters Roger had, Brian would win the game. John shifted in-between them, clearly uncomfortable with the competitive tension. Brian could hear the soft clicking of his wrist watch as the seconds ticked by.

Roger intensely stared at his letters and back at the board. _What on earth are you up to over there? Trying to make up another word again, are you?_ Brian thought.

"Roger, darling, it has been at least five minutes and other people have turns too," Freddie complained, "Do you have a word or not?"

"I think I do," Roger replied.

Brian raised his eyebrows. "Let's see it, then," he said. 

Using Freddie and John's W and H from their first turns, Roger spelled out crwth.

"C, R, W, T, H," he read aloud, "That spells crwth." 

"That's not a real word!" Brian accused. _What is that, Welsh?_ he pondered. 

"Yes, it is!" Roger insisted, "It is an old string instrument from the Stone Ages!"

"The Stone Ages!" Brian roared, "Who gives a damn about the Stone Ages? Freddie, John, have you heard of such a thing, a crurths or however you say it?"

Freddie shook his head and replied, "No, dear, I haven't. I vote that the word be invalid." 

"John?" Brian asked.

John tilted his head back and forth like he was sorting through his memories. 

"I have," John said slowly, "Heard of the crwth. It is a real instrument and therefore I vote the word be valid." 

Freddie raised his hand and declared, "If it is a real instrument, and I trust Deaky's word, then I change my vote to yes, the word is valid."

John grabbed the score sheet and tallied up Roger's new points. Roger eagerly looked over his shoulder and occasionally glanced up at Brian with mocking delight.

"Roger's score is now at 456. Unless Brian has any tricks up his sleeve, Roger wins this game," John concluded. 

Brian growled and out of the corner of his eye he saw Freddie lean away from him. By the time Brian's turn came around, there were no words he could create.

"I concede," Brian admitted, "I can't play any of my letters." 

Roger jumped up and cheered, "I win!"

Brian ran his fingers through his hair. _How could this have happened?_ he thought. 

"Ha!" Roger yelled as he pointed in Brian's face, "Didn't think I had that in me, did ya?"

Brian stood up and pushed Roger back down onto the bed.

"Bri! Calm down, sweetheart," Freddie scolded. 

John tugged at Brian's trouser leg. "Sit down," he said, "It's just a game."

Brian took a deep breath and felt his muscles relax. 

"I'm gonna go use the loo and then go to bed," he decided. 

Down in the bathroom, Brian splashed cold water onto his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. The ringlets around his forehead and cheeks were wetted flat against his skin. He leaned forward and glared into his own eyes. For a moment, they shifted to their lycan amber and then back to his normal hazel. He jumped back in shock.

"So that is what they look like," he whispered to himself. He looked into the mirror again and willed them to change color again. Like he hoped, his eyes momentarily glowed like fire before fading away. _Glad no one was in here to see that,_ he thought. 

The door opened and one of the other guests entered. It was a man around the same height of Roger, had firetruck red hair, and curiously lacked eyebrows. They awkwardly nodded at each other and the man slipped into one of the stalls. _Bloke probably thought I was checking myself out in the mirror,_ Brian thought. He wanted to crawl out of his skin from the cringe.

He quickly patted his face with a towel and dashed as quickly as his legs could carry him up the stairs and to his room. He knocked on the door to be let back in and John answered it with a huff. Before he could say anything, Freddie's voice carried out into the hallway.

"If you just hold it up right, we could push the screw back into the wall and no one will notice that it ever fell," he said.

"Erhm," John said, "It's probably a good thing that you're back."

Brian rolled his eyes and pushed his way into the room. One of the light fixtures that was one connected to the wall in-between the beds was now dangling by its wires. Freddie stood over it in his pajamas with his hands on his hips. Roger was crouched down on the floor picking something up.

"I am going to leave you to this while I use the toilet and get ready for bed myself," John said, "It's your turn now." 

The other lycan slipped out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him. 

"Tell me, what the hell have you two done now?" Brian demanded. 

Freddie and Roger scrambled to tell their side of the story.

"Well, dear, Roger here threw a pillow—"

"Freddie called me stupid for getting in your face—"

"And it hit the light here and it fell and broke—"

"And I threw something at him but I missed and—"

"And now we are trying to fix it, which, darling, is much harder than it looks—"

"And John, the electrical engineer, just decided to leave us to figure it our for ourselves," Roger finished.

Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _I feel like a single mum of two hyperactive schoolboys,_ he thought, _just breath, just breath, Bri. Nothing good will come of you snapping at them._

"I would like both of you to pick up what you can and put it on the chest, please," Brian instructed as calmly as he could.

Freddie and Roger obeyed and gathered the pieces of the light fixture that broke off. They left the remainder of it dangling from the wall by its wires. 

"Good," Brian said, "We will deal with that in the morning. Hopefully it won't start a fire." 

Brian crawled onto the bed where John slept the previous night and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. Unfortunately, the bed was short, so Brian's feet came close to dangling off of the end of the bed. 

Freddie decided to lay between the two beds where Roger slept the previous night, which left Brian's old spot for John. 

"There's nothing like laying down after a busy day," Freddie said as he settled down on his pallet, "You know, when the pressure is finally released from your back?"

"You sound like an old man," Roger commented from the other bed.

"Old man? Dear, I will never be an old man. I'll be a spring chicken for all my life," Freddie responded. 

The room's door opened and John entered. He asked, "Did you fix it?" 

"No," Brian replied, "We are going to work on it tomorrow. No use trying to get tried inebriated minds to fix something." 

"Okay," John said, "I guess I'll go to bed now, if that is alright with all of you."

"Yes, John, you are hereby permitted to go to bed," Freddie sarcastically declared with a flick of his wrist. 

Without a word, John settled on Brian's old spot between the bed and the wall. Roger yawned and turned off the spare light. 

"Goodnight, everyone," he said.

"G'Night," John replied. 

Freddie added, "Sleep well, dears."

"See you in the morning," Brian said barely above a whisper.

Within a few moments of closing his eyes, he was asleep. He dreamt that he was running through the streets of Brighton in the dead of night barefoot and half-naked. A sense of urgency overwhelmed him. _Where are they? Where did they take him?_ He thought. He didn't know who 'they' were and he didn't know who 'he' was. The dream increased in lucidity the more he ran. Suddenly, he stepped in a pool of warm liquid. He looked down and the metallic scent of blood drowned his senses. An angry bellow escaped his lips, a cry that turned into a haunted howl.

A sharp yelp jolted Brian out of sleep.

"Roger, watch where you are stepping!" Freddie wheezed from the floor next to him.

"Sorry!" Roger whispered back, "I need to take a piss and I can't see." 

Brian grumbled from his bed, "You good down there, Fred?"

Freddie coughed and replied, "I just got the air stomped out of my chest, darling. I'll live." 

"Just checking. You frightened me," Brian whispered.

Brian shut his eyes. He willed himself to sleep, but sleep was a fickle mistress and evaded him like an ex-lover. _I hope you are joking,_ Brian thought to himself, _I was sleeping so nicely before._

Brian sigh wiled and began counting sheep in his head. By the time he got to 839, he gave up and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling above him.

The sound of movement next to him pricked his ears. John slowly stood up next to him and silently crept to the door.

 _What are you up to now, you little bastard?_ Brian wondered. John slipped out of the room and Brian heard his soft footsteps descend the stairs to the ground level. A surge of courage and curiosity struck Brian's core and he sprung out of bed to follow him.

Just like Brian suspected, John did not stop for a smoke outside the inn and instead went on what seemed to be a remembered journey through the street. Brian trailed after him, careful to make sure that his scent was not detected. Not once did John turn his head to smell the air behind him or turn around to listen to a sound that came from behind. _Oh, I've totally got this,_ Brian thought to himself.

Suddenly, once they were about a five minute walk away from the inn, John took off running at the speed of a lycan. Brian's mouth hung agape for a moment and then he chased after him.

 _What on earth are you doing?_ Brian thought. The pair soon reached the railing by the pier and Brian lagged several paces behind a naturally more swift John. Brian's back was glued to a wall as he watched John like a hawk.

The wind shifted and the mysterious smell that Brian smelled the day before when the band ate at the pier returned. He felt his fangs protrude from out of gums and he ran his tongue over their sharp points. John turned his head and Brian saw a sliver of a yellow glow in his eye.

 _You must have smelled it too,_ Brian thought, _Now, what are we smelling, exactly?_

John followed the scent like a foxhound on a hunt.

 _How come we both have such an interest in this?_ Brian wondered, _and how come it provokes such a strange reaction._

Without a warning, John dashed down a shadowy alley way. Another smell emanated from the alley unlike anything Brian had smelled before. Sure, the mysterious smell set off a series of lycan alarm bells in him, but the new smell made the side of his humanity crawl back in horror. 

Brian slinked closer to John who stood above a large unknown object. When Brian laid eyes on the mass in front of him, it registered within him what the second smell was: death.

There, on the cold and dusty pavement, was the body of a young boy, likely around the age of ten or eleven years old. His arms were littered with scratches and bruises and one of his ankles was bent backwards in an intentional and cruel fashion. His mouth was open frozen in time in a twisted scream and his dead eyes were still wide and full of fear. The worst of it all was that the boy's chest was ripped open through his pyjama shirt and Brian instinctively knew that his heart was missing.

Brian gasped in terror and John turned around. Brian jumped behind a rubbish bin and ducked his head.

John sighed and said, "Brian, I know that you are there. I smelled you after we left the inn. And I can see your clogs." 

Brian's heart dropped. He stood up and emerged from his hiding spot, but refused to go any closer to John.

"John," he asked with a trembling voice, "What is that?"

"You know exactly what it is, pup," John replied.

"Did you— What happened?" Brian asked. He could feel his teeth chattering.

"I didn't do this. Our kind doesn't do this," John responded, " _They_ did." 

Brian gulped and questioned, "Who?"

"Werewolves," John answered, "I know you've caught their scent, too." 

Brian blinked. "Werewolves? That eat hearts?" he asked.

John picked up a stick from the ground and poked at the gaping whole in the boy's torso. Brian swallowed down a fit of vomit. 

"And the liver or stomach, it seems for this hungry pack. Roger could probably tell us more about what was ingested," John replied. 

"What are you doing with the stick? Can you please stop poking him?" Brian asked.

John looked up at Brian with an unsaid apology in his grey eyes. He dropped the stick and said, "I'm sorry. They are more precise than they were yesterday. They've killed again in short succession. I don't know what this means." 

"What do we do?" Brian asked.

"Warn them not to do it again," John said. Brian watched him go over to the nearest wall and rub his shoulder on it. _Scent marking,_ Brian thought, _Freddie told me that John did this at their flat._

Brian copied John and scent marked around the boy's body. Every time a hint of it hit the corner of his eye, Brian felt tears well up in his eyes. _What kind of monster could do something like that to a child?_ Brian thought.

"How many of them do you smell?" John asked, bringing Brian back to the moment.

"What?" Brian responded.

"You have a better nose than I do," John said.

"Oh, erhm," Brian started before he took a deep inhale. _One, two,_ he thought. He smelled again, _Wait a moment, no. Three, four,_ he counted, _five._

"Five, I smell five," Brian answered. Five monsters murdered a little boy.

"Five. That's what I thought," John said. He passed Brian and walked out of the alley way and back onto the sidewalk. 

"John? Wait!" Brian called out as he followed out after him.

"What?" John asked.

"Won't the police count us as suspects?" Brian asked.

John chuckled and shook his head. "No," he replied, "No, the police are ignorant of the monster world. Our DNA would show up as wolf DNA to them anyways." 

"Oh," Brian said. _Wolf DNA?_ Brian internally questioned.

The pair walked silently through the streets back to the inn. About halfway there, John said, "Brian, I am so sorry had to see that."

Brian didn't know how to respond, so he kept quiet. 

"I suppose you are ready to know why this all is happening," John continued.

"Why this all is happening?" Brian asked. 

"Years ago, during the says of ancient Italy before the city of Rome was founded lived a young woman named Lupa. One day, a neighboring tribe invaded her village and intended to kidnap the women to take them as brides. Lupa cried out to the moon goddess Diana, the protector of those who are most vulnerable, for mercy. 

"Diana took pity on Lupa and bestowed upon her a gift on the condition that she used it to protect herself and others. She accepted the condition and became the first wolf-shifter, the first lycan. She saved the women of her village and was applauded as a hero of her tribe.

"Many years later, she married a poor farmer named Lycanus. They could not have children of their own, and they dearly wanted a family. One day in the reeds of the Tiberius River, she found a basket that sheltered twin boys that were abandoned. She took them in and she and her husband raised them as their own. When the two boys were very young, they became very sick. Lupa once again cried out to Diana for mercy for the boys who she viewed as her sons. Diana granted Lupa the ability to share her gift to them with a nip on their hands under the same condition as before. The twins must use their gift to protect others, otherwise, Diana added, the blessing would turn into a terrible curse.

"The boys would grow up to be Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. One day, Romulus and Remus got into a fight over spreading the gift. Remus wanted to spread it to the whole tribe so that they were more powerful and could conquer other tribes, but Romulus wanted to keep the gift within their own family clan, the Lycans. They got into a horrendous fight, and out of a fit of rage Romulus pushed Remus off of the highest wall in the city to his death."

"Isn't this the story of the founding of Rome?" Brian asked.

"Yes. Well, sort of," John said, "The historians always get some details wrong. Anyways, Remus survived the fall and wanted revenge on Romulus. So, Remus bit as many men as he could to raise an army against Romulus and the rest of the tribe. But, the more Remus was consumed by revenge, the more the gift mutated into a curse. Instead of an army of lycans, Remus created a pack of savage and untamable demented werewolves.

"A great battle commenced and the werewolves were pushed out into the wilderness using silver tipped spears. Diana, as the legend goes, was a smart goddess and made sure that lycanthropy came with such a weakness. What originally started out as an ordinary metal allergy of a very human Lupa ended up being the only thing that could kill a lycan or a werewolf."

"So, where does that put us?" Brian asked as he held the door open for John as they entered back in the inn.

"Lycans are forever tasked with protecting the humans like we were supposed to," John said, "And stopping the werewolves from killing innocents."

"Fuck, Deaky, I didn't know there was that much to it. None of the books I read said anything," Brian said as they climbed up the stairs. 

"In all seriousness, Brian. About what we saw tonight," John said, "Please don't tell Freddie and Roger."

Brian took a deep breath and nodded his head. "I won't," he promised. 

John carefully unlocked the door to their room and opened it.

To their surprise, Roger and Freddie sat on the beds with the light on. Freddie stared at them and arched an eyebrow.

He asked, "Don't tell Freddie and Roger what?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to ActualBlanketGremlin who introduced me to the word 'crwth,' which IS IN FACT a valid Scrabble word. I have used it several times to bamboozle people in various word games since I discovered it last April. I also watched a bog body documentary with my friend last night and I thought of you
> 
> Sorry I didn't update the past few days. I have been busy. I plan to update sometime later this week, or at the latest Saturday


	7. (Roger has found that the singer of) The Prophet's Song (might be more telling than he originally thought. Lucky him.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and John spill the tea about the werewolf murders
> 
> Roger hears the voice again. 
> 
> And the author tries to radically rewrite their outline because they realized they wanted to do something different whilst internally panicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a work of fiction. All things here are dramatized for the sake of storytelling. The characters are based on the “character” or persona of the individuals depicted and are by no means meant to realistically or seriously portray real-life people. That being said, please DO NOT send this to the band members or their families. Also, please DO NOT pressure any band members or their family to comply with any element of this story.

Switch to Roger's POV

———∞◊∞———

"Don't tell Freddie and Roger what?" Freddie asked. 

John and Brian stood in the doorway into their room like deer in headlights. Brian's face was flushed free of any color and John looked as though he shitted his pants.

Roger crossed his legs like a child in grade school. _This is going to be interesting,_ he thought. 

"N-n-nothing," John lied as clear as day.

Roger raised his eyebrows and scoffed, "I hope you're joking." 

"Brian?" Freddie pressed. Brian remained as still as a statue save for an audible gulp. 

Roger knew that Brian and John were up to something when he woke in the middle of the night to go take a piss and both Lycans were mysteriously missing. He had decided to give his bandmates the benefit of the doubt and went to the toilet to relieve himself. When he was done, he peaked through the front windows of the inn and saw dark empty streets and no sign of Brian and John. 

"I'm gonna kill them," Roger had mumbled to himself as he plodded back up the stairs to their room, "I'm gonna kill them and make a hat of their skins." 

"Freddie?" Roger had said as he entered back in the room, "Freddie, wake up. John and Brian aren't here." 

"What do you mean, John and Brian aren't here, darling?" Freddie had asked, "Sure they aren't using the toilet or out for a smoke?"

"I went down there and I was the only one there. And Brian doesn't smoke," Roger had replied. 

Freddie stood up and turned on the broken light that dangled from the wall. 

"Very peculiar, dear, because it is not even close to the full moon," Freddie had commented, "We'll wait up for them and give 'em hell when they come back, that I'll tell you." 

Not even five minutes later, which to Roger felt like an eternity as his mind taunted him with endless worst case scenarios, John's voice echoed outside of the room uttering words of exclusion with Brian's consent. Now John and Brian are about to bite the dust at the hands of an ex-boxer and a feisty blond. 

John tucked his head and admitted, "Freddie, there is something, but it is very serious and I feel as though it would but you all in danger if you knew." 

"In danger my ass!" Roger butted in.

"Oh really?" Freddie spat, "Darling, please, we are a band, you and I flatmates. I feel as though I am certainly in the circle of need-to-know! If this is some lycan bullshit, then sure, I suppose I can see your bloody rationale, but I refuse to allow my time to be waisted by the fuckery that comes along with such secrets." 

"And," Roger added as he stared Brian down from his bed, "We have the right to know if we are indeed in danger!" 

Brian raised a finger to his lips and said, "May you please quiet it down? There are other people in this building that are trying to sleep." 

"Fuck them!" Roger crowed. His tiredness crept into his willingness to control his temper.

John whispered, "We will tell you, now, if you just quiet down."

Roger and Freddie made eye contact and they smirked. _Success,_ Roger thought. 

"Please, dears, sit down," Freddie gracefully commanded. He gestured to the open spots on the beds. Brian joined Roger on his bed and John sat next to Freddie. 

John's eyes darted throughout the room like he was a caged animal looking for a way to escape. Brian stared down at his hands. Roger narrowed his eyes and glanced down to see what Brian could have found so interesting. The young lycan's hands were trembling and Roger furrowed his brow. 

"Alright, guys, what is going on?" Roger asked. 

"Remember how we read in the paper that there where, erhm, suspicious deaths in Brighton before we made our trip down?" John started.

"Murders, John," Brian corrected.

Roger nodded his head and said, "Yeah, I remember the murders. Or where they animal attacks? I can't remember. Thought we decided not to worry about them." 

"Well," John said slowly.

Freddie asked, "Well what?" 

"Well," John continued in a quiet tone, "It seems that they were caused by werewolves."

"Huh?" Freddie asked. 

Roger rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry? Aren't you two both werewolves?" he asked.

"We are lycans. We don't kill people," Brian assured.

"And how did you make this discovery? Did you see one?" Freddie asked. 

Brian shook his head and replied, "No, but we smelled them by the pier when we first ate."

"You got all of that from a smell?" Freddie asked.

John sharply inhaled and responded, "No. Yesterday night, I scouted the beach and came across one of their victims. Tonight I went out again and my pup followed me."

 _Did he just call Brian his pup?_ Roger thought, _What the hell is with all of this lycan speak?_

"Tonight they killed another, a young boy," John continued, "His heart was gone." Brian stiffened next to Roger.

Freddie exclaimed, "Y'allah!"

"What are we going to do now with a werewolf on the loose?" Roger questioned.

Brian sighed and said, "There is a whole pack of them, actually."

"Fucking hell!" Roger gasped.

"Brian and I scent marked around the boy to ward them off. They did not get the message the first time, but maybe they will tonight. If it all goes our way, they won't kill tomorrow night, or the next," John said.

Freddie stood up and started pacing around the room. He put his hands behind his head and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. He paused in the centre of the room and slapped his arms down at his sides. 

"We have to cancel the evening shows," he said. 

"What?" Roger asked. _He can't be serious! That'd be three nights gone!_ he thought.

Freddie shook his head and said, "I cannot perform knowing that someone in our audience will leave our show and could die because they were walking around at night."

John tapped his lip and interjected, "If they will kill again, they will kill again. Our shows will not influence it one way or another."

"I refuse to put one of our audience members in harm's way," Freddie argued. 

"We'd have to cancel _all_ of the evening shows?" Roger asked, "Even the one at Varndean on the other side of the city?"

Freddie paused for a second to ponder. "Perhaps," he decided. Roger's shoulders slumped. John twiddled his fingers and Brian tilted his head back and forth as he worked out an idea.

"The show must go on, Fred," Brian said, "Based on the location of the killings, I'd say that Varndean is far enough out of their territory to not pose a safety concern for anybody."

"I have to agree with Brian," John chimed in, "If we could salvage one show and make this tour worthwhile, it would be Varndean. You are like my brothers. I would not intentionally but you in harm's way, or anybody, for that matter." 

"Alright. We cancel the evening shows, but keep the one at Varndean because it is safest on the other side of town," Freddie decided. 

Roger sighed and volunteered, "I'll make the calls to cancel our reservations in the morning." 

———∞◊∞———

The following morning John and Brian were tasked with fixing the broken light fixture while Freddie finalized designs on band posters and Roger called the different venues to cancel their evening shows. 

"What will I tell them?" Roger asked as he grabbed spare change for the phone both and put on his jacket.

"Oh, just tell them we are having equipment issues," John suggested as he twisted together two broken wires. 

"And tell them that the issue will be fixed by the time we perform at Varndean and that they may come and watch us!" Freddie added.

"Broken equipment, will be fixed," Roger said, "Got it." 

Roger slipped out of the room and down the stairs. As he opened the front door, he nearly head butted another man walking in. This man's appearance was striking. He had bright red hair like fire with a bleached blond strip that framed his face. The man made eye-contact with Roger and Roger couldn't help but feel that he recognized the man from somewhere. _Was it the way he walked?_ Roger thought as he made his way to the phone booth on the street corner, _Or was it his eyes? Whatever it was, I've seen it before._ He stepped into the phone booth and shivered.

A feeling of deja vu haunted him as he shoved coins into the phone. He remembered the previous night at the pub and seeing his own face in the crowd. _But how does that relate to the man I just saw?_ Roger thought. He pulled out his note book and dialed the number listed for the first venue. 

"Hello?" A female voice answered. 

"Hello, this is Roger Taylor of the band Queen," he introduced himself, "I'm calling because I regret to inform you that we will be canceling our show for tonight and tomorrow. We are having equipment issues that unfortunately will not be fixed by then."

"Alright then. I'll let the manager know," the woman replied.

Roger said, "Yes, and Queen would like to thank you for the opportunity. If you'd like to see us live, we should have everything—"

A new voice interrupted him from the phone. "I see that you are canceling your shows," it said, "Are you leaving like I suggested?" 

A shiver trickled down Roger's spine. It was the same smooth baritone voice from the day before that spoke to him inside his head. 

Roger clenched the phone up to his mouth and growled, "Listen here, you little dickhead, who are you and what do you want?"

The other voice sighed and said, "There is no reason to call anyone names. If anything, I should be calling you a little shit for not heeding my warning. But alas, it seems that I need to make a correction." 

"A correction?" Roger questioned. 

"I know the real identity of your friends. I am not sure if they have told you, but their type rarely do because they rarely know themselves."

"You know nothing about us, so why don't you mind your own goddamn business?"

"As I was saying, I am making a correction. Your friends might be the danger I thought they were when I first saw them. I haven't seen that _kind_ before," the voice said, "However, I still think that it would be best for you still to leave, Roger." 

With the sound of his name, Roger slammed the phone back onto its hook. The phone almost immediately started to ring again. Roger clawed the phone up and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" Roger asked. His voice trembled like an unnatural vibrato. 

"Roger, I am sorry I said your name," the voice apologized with legitimate sincerity, "I know it must sound unnerving coming from me. But, you must take this seriously. There is something terrible going on here in Brighton and you and your friends are dangerously close to getting involved. I admit, I was wrong about them before, but please listen." 

Roger closed his eyes and replied, "Message received, Major."

He hung up the phone and stepped out of the phone booth. No one seemed out of place or out of the ordinary. He pulled up his jacket's collar and slinked back to the inn without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SO SO sorry I was gone for so long. I have had a busy couple of weeks, mostly because I just had my birthday. I'm 18 now! Yay!
> 
> Anywho- Who do you think the voice is? I'll give you a hint- you have read a description of them for the past few chapters. You will receive a really big hint next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I love to interact with my readers and y'all help me so much during the writing process!


End file.
